


It's Always the Little One

by bellesque



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Baby, Domestic Tom, F/M, Fluff, I wanted to give him a baby, New Parents, Newborn, No use of y/n, POV Second Person, Parenthood, Romance, Soft Dad Tom, Tom is great with kids, so here it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22754986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellesque/pseuds/bellesque
Summary: You wake up in the middle of the night to find your husband staring adoringly at your cute newborn.
Relationships: Tom Hiddleston/Reader, Tom Hiddleston/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 88





	It's Always the Little One

**Author's Note:**

> So I got tired trying to memorize things for uni and decided to write this headcanon-slash-oneshot. Inspired by a conversation I had with the lovely @shiningloki. I love you, girl.

**“DARLING.”**

Silence. You wait a few more beats for a sign of movement, any acknowledgment from your husband that he’s heard you. You try again.

“Tom.”

Still, nothing. A tired sigh escapes your lips as you shift in your shared queen-sized bed, lying on your side and propping your head on your elbow.

_“Thomas.”_

“Mmm?”

In the quiet stillness of the night, you’re not surprised that you can see him perfectly. His lanky figure is hunched over the new white crib you and he received during the baby shower, his chin resting on his forearms. How long he’s been standing at the foot of your baby’s crib, simply staring at your new bundle of joy, you don’t know. Tonight is your first night home from the hospital, and although it isn’t your first night with the baby (it’s your third, to be exact), Tom’s nightly routine hasn’t changed.

“He’s not going anywhere,” you say softly. “Come to bed.”

“In a while,” he replies, not taking his eyes off to even spare a glance at you. Tom reaches down to tuck a little hand that’s poked out back into the blanket you so carefully swaddled your son in.

This time you sit up, yawning, your head falling back against the headboard as you regard him with sleepy affection. You still can’t believe you’ve started a life, a _family_ with this man. After two years of dating, you became Mrs. Hiddleston, and two years after that a healthy Hiddleston baby boy comes into your lives.

You hope when he grows up he will take after his father. Kind, generous, smart, loving. Passionate about the things he loves.

You glance at the time on your phone. “Tom, it’s almost one in the morning.” Your voice is hushed so as not to wake the baby, but the urgency in your tone does not go unnoticed. “Don’t you have a shoot?”

Tom straightens up, stretching his back for a few seconds before leaning forward again as the baby wriggles in his constraints. You can see his little fingers poking out again, and swiftly Tom tucks his cute, tiny hand back under the blanket. This time, after his gaze lingers on the baby for a second longer, he glances at you with a twinkle in his eyes. “They know I have my hands full at the moment.” And then, his attention is back on the baby.

A smile begins to bloom across your face. He’s so gentle, so careful, so thoughtful about this whole thing. Your entire house has already been baby-proofed, even though it’ll be a few years until he reaches baby-crawling stage. And nights like this one, he stays up late into the night just… staring. Quietly. Adoring your little baby as though he is the best thing in the world—which of course, he is.

“Are they? I had no idea. You must be so busy, having to watch a newborn baby breathe,” you tease.

Tom gives you a half-amused, half-bashful look, and your grin only widens. You pat the space beside you; his spot on the bed. “Come on. If you’re not sleeping anytime soon, might as well have a little family cuddle time.”

You can tell he likes the idea, if the way his expression lights up is any indication. You watch as he takes great caution picking up your son, cradling him in his strong arms and bouncing him a few times.

You really don’t know what you did to get so lucky. Seeing this picture right in front of you: Tom in his pajamas, in all his ruffled glory, all 6 feet 2 inches of him so clearly in love with the little one that it radiates off him in waves; knowing that now, with this addition to your family, his protective instincts have only increased tenfold… your chest expands and swells with love.

As Tom slowly makes his way to the bed, still rocking the baby, you notice the tiredness that manifest under his eyes. Of course he’s tired. He hasn’t been sleeping because you’ve been taking turns with the baby in the night. You’ve been pretty uptight and overly worried that you aren’t doing things right, but Tom reminds you it’s only been a few days. You both are doing fine.

He is doing exceptionally well.

The mattress dips as Tom sits himself on the bed and scoots towards you, extending his legs as he settles in an inclined position against the headboard. He sets the baby on his chest, patting his back lightly in a steady rhythm, and his eyes slip closed.

You want to memorize this moment, capture it forever. There’s something so pristine about it that makes your chest want to burst out of your body, and before you can do anything to stop it tears well up in your eyes.

Almost as if he has a sense for these things, Tom’s eyes open and fix on you. His gaze is tender, his eyebrows coming together just the slightest bit at your reaction. He opens his free arm to you, a silent invitation for you to curl up against his side.

“Now, darling, why the tears?” he asks, his voice low and comforting. You wrap your arm around his waist, just below where the baby’s cocoon is, and plop your head on his shoulder. His fingers trace arbitrary patterns on your back as he presses his lips to the top of your head before letting his head fall on top of yours.

“They’re happy tears, I promise,” you tell him quietly. “It’s just…” You shake your head, just a little, a mindless action that causes his head to lift from yours. You lift your chin to stare up at him. “I’m so lucky.”

His arm is on your hip, squeezing you closer to him, his gaze never leaving yours. It’s powerful yet gentle all the same, a magnetic pull that you can’t tear away from. His eyes flit to your lips, and he moves down while you automatically stretch upwards to meet him halfway.

In all your time together, you have shared many kisses with Tom. Needy and urgent, hot and passionate, amorous and romantic, slow and lazy, and everything in between. This one, however, is new. It’s soft and slow, and the emotions you exchange—the uncertainty of parenthood, the fear, the pride and gratefulness to have each other—are present with every movement.

He rests his forehead against yours as you pull away. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“You’re a wonderful woman. Kind, courageous, strong.” He kisses your forehead. “Our son is lucky to be growing up with a mother like you.”

Your default is to deflect, to compliment him back to shadow yours, but you know he will only bring it back to you. So you swallow the alien feeling and look at him gratefully. “I really hope so.”

“I know for a fact,” he says firmly. “Don’t doubt yourself, darling. And even when you feel like you can’t do it, you’ve got me. We’re a team now, the Hiddlestons.”

Your heart swells for the second time tonight, and you reach up a hand to cup his cheek. He nuzzles against your touch. “I still can’t get over the sound of that.”

The baby interrupts your moment, a cute little sneeze, and you and Tom share a loving look before grinning widely. You detach yourself from him as he gets up to lay the baby back in his crib.

“You’re absolutely smitten with that boy,” you say as Tom moves to get into his _watch my baby sleep_ position. “We sleep while he sleeps, remember?”

He stops and pads back to the bed, getting under the covers with you. He reaches over you to turn off the lamp, and then drapes an arm over you.

“Can you blame me? He’s an angel,” he says into your hair.

“Hmm, guess I can’t,” you reply, words slurring together as your eyelids droop.

Tom presses another kiss to your temple. “I love you. So much, darling,” he whispers.

“I love you too.” You yawn. “Sleep, Tom.”

He gives you one last squeeze, securing and protective. And so you hope for more nights like tonight: quiet, peaceful, full of love as a family.

Well, at least until the baby starts wailing.


End file.
